


The Day Draco Malfoy Was Saved

by Turtle_Steed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, birth scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_Steed/pseuds/Turtle_Steed
Summary: Based off of artwork by UptheHill, this is a fluffy story about the day Draco Malfoy was saved.  Based off of a headcannon of Draco Malfoy being a double agent after Dumbledore's death, and his actions eventually help them defeat Voldemort.  Also, did I mention it's Dramione?  One-shot, birth scene.  Draco Malfoy meets his son.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	The Day Draco Malfoy Was Saved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [upthehillart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/upthehillart/gifts).



> Hiya! I'm sorry to anyone who reads any of my usual work for the ACOTAR fandom... I know, I know I should be updating instead of writing Harry Potter oneshots.  
> Regardless, this is a piece that I absolutely could not get out of my mind until it was written. It's based off of a piece of artwork drawn by the lovely UptheHill, which you can see here: https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/The-day-Draco-was-saved-702591878  
> Also, I do not have a beta... I do all my proofreading and editing myself so I'm sorry if I missed anything. And if anyone would like to help a girl out by betaing some of the work I've posted I would love you forever.

Draco Malfoy felt like he was dying. His heart pounded much too hard in his chest, his breath was a battle in his lungs. He could feel his own magic in the air around him, leaking from him like it hadn’t since he was a child just learning to control his powers. 

He ran his hand through his dirty hair for about the thousandth time that morning and groaned as he made another turn around the lounge that preluded his shared bedroom. Could someone die from anticipation? Could his own battling magic turn against him, stopping his heart in his chest? Perhaps the gods were finally coming for him, to give him what he deserved for the years he had hated and judged. Or worse, perhaps the gods were coming for his wife. 

He took another rattling breath and stopped in the middle of the room, his shoes digging into the pale carpet. Deep breath. It will be okay. She will be okay. _They_ will be okay. 

After all, his reaction to the whole situation was what gotten him kicked out of the room by that wildfire of a woman. So, he needed to get his shit together, or they wouldn’t let back in for the finale. 

He crossed his arms over his chest, the lapels of his suit much more disheveled than he would ever be seen in normal circumstances. As he crossed his arms, the sleeves pulled up revealing a black, curling tattoo on his left forearm. His eyes caught on it, and he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. 

There was no way he would have this. This blessing from the Gods, from the eddies of fate, was just another plot to torture his soul. After everything he had done, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve a single piece of what he had been given. 

_Fuck._

He closed his eyes and shuttered at the groan that echoed from the closed door behind him. Guttural, pining. Pure agony. He clutched his arms to his chest even tighter, and his magic crackled between his fingertips as he tried to suppress the urge to damn it all and kick the door open. This was _his_ manor after all. Who was that women to keep him from his own bedroom?

Three sets of footsteps echoed from the arched entryway to the foyer of his private suite and silence answered back from the bedroom behind him. 

He cracked his eyes back open as a trio entered his foyer, and he barely managed to keep the emotion off of his face as the red-headed man and blonde woman settled on the loveseat across from a large window that looked over the grounds. The messy-haired, tan man perched, half-leaning against arm of the sofa next to them, and looked at him with a vaguely amused expression as he crossed his arms in a mirror to Draco’s posture. 

Ronald Weasley threw his arm around his dreamy-eyed wife and looked at Draco with the same amused expression as Potter. 

Merlin, even after all these years they could be so infuriating. 

“Do I need to bother to ask how you’re holding up?” Harry Potter asked him, that amused smile grating against Draco nerves, but his voice was soothing. Like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly, Draco would bolt from the room like a caged animal. Or jinx him. Could be either, really.

Draco looked at him with a strangled expression, and his fingers were starting to go numb with the strength that he was gripping his arms against his chest. He stiffened as another soft moan echoed from behind the closed door behind him, but when things quieted back down, he managed a hissed answer, “Oh, I’m just bloody incredible. I love being blocked from my own chambers by a couple of angry red-headed women while my _wife_ screams in pain without me. It’s a fucking dream, Potter.” 

Ron chuckled and Draco flashed him a glare that he knew burned like silver bullets. 

“It’s been a long time since you’ve referred to me as Potter, Draco. I’ve almost missed it,” Harry grinned at Draco. 

“I’ll have to remember to curse you more often, if you miss it so much,” he muttered, and pulled subconsciously at his left sleeve. Every beat of his heart was echoing _not-worthy, not-worthy, not-worthy_ and then _death-eater, death-eater, death-eater…_

“Don’t sweat it mate, Mum and Gin kicked me out for both rounds: the twin’s births and Rosie’s. I think they think the men stink up the room or something,” Ron joked, trying to give him an encouraging smile. 

Luna spoke up, her eyes and voice surprisingly clear this morning, “Maybe it was because every time I so much as whimpered at a contraction, you squeezed my hand hard enough to break my fingers. During one the worse ones you literally exploded a glass of water on the bedside table when you lost control of your magic.” 

Draco was only vaguely listening and started burning a hole in his carpet with his footsteps again. 

“Yeah, when James was born Ginny literally _Flipendo_ ’d me out the door. This was in between the screaming ‘this is your fault, Harry Potter’ and the ‘you know, I was a professional Quidditch player before you did this to me.’”

Luna didn’t appear to hear him, but rested her hand against her cheek, her eyes once again far off, “Then again, maybe it was the Nargles…” 

Ron just rolled his eyes in a fond way, and half-mindedly ran his hands through the end of his wife’s long hair. 

Draco didn’t reply, but continued his march. 

Harry didn’t speak again but settled on looking out the window at the late Summer that had settled over the ground of Malfoy Manor. It was bright and warm out, the air vaguely floral and fresh, bees humming from flower to flower while birds chirped in the trees. The dark scars that had been left in the manor after Voldemort’s occupation of Malfoy Manor were nearly faded. Only a small portion of the manor was Draco still struggling to clear from traces of dark magic, but fortunately it was the part of the manor that no one had an ounce of desire to return to.

Certainly, Draco had no intention of going back into that drawing room with the still shattered chandelier, and his wife had pointedly ignored it when she moved in. 

He could hear her screams even now, could feel how hopeless he was back then. He could hear his aunt whispering _‘dirty little mudblood’_ even now. 

He wasn’t nearly as hopeless now, but somehow his world felt even more fragile than it had during the war. He guessed he had so much more to lose. 

A sharp pang rattled through him as he realized just precisely how… unworthy he was. Unworthy of her, unworthy of his unborn child, unworthy for his friendship and his freedom. He was damaged, and he _had_ damaged and there no way in hell he was going to be able to raise a child after everything he had done-

He stopped in his tracks, dropping his hands by his side, clenching his fists as another shriek echoed through the mansion, and was cut off quickly. A crystal vase that sat nearby the window seal shattered as Draco loosened his grip on his control. It was probably priceless, but he didn’t really give a shit.

“How? How can I do this? I don’t deserve to be a _father…_ I can’t be a father. Look at me!” He had whirled back around to look at the trio, and nearly ripped his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark that while faded, still cursed him. “I’m a Death Eater! She’s probably going to be the fucking _Minister of Magic_ and I-, I-“ he tried to form a coherent thought, but he was being choked by his own throat. 

The trio turned their gaze from each other and from the garden to look at him. A moment of silence passed in which Draco gripped his face between his hands, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to unwind what remained of his resolve.

“I told her… I told her, when she wanted me, when she wanted this… I can’t do this. I’m nothing more than a Death Eater. That’s all I’ll ever be,” he gasped, clutching at his hair.

“Draco…” Harry began, his voice soft. He had stood from his perch on the sofa and was slowly approaching the unwinding man before him. 

“NO! Harry Potter, I do not deserve this. I don’t deserve that child in there, the gods are going to take it from me. They’ll take her from me, and our child and laugh in my face as I finally get the fate that I-“ 

“DRACO MALFOY,” a shrill voice boomed and the three men in the room jumped as Luna Weasley stood, brushing past Harry to pull Draco’s hands away from his face. He knew he looked crazy, probably just as anguished and confused and lost as he had when he was in sixth year, trying to do a madman’s bidding- for his family- for his honor-

“Enough,” Luna spoke quietly then. Her eyes were dreamy again, but they seemed to pierce right through him. “There is nothing in this world you deserve any less than any of us this room. We all made mistakes; we all did terrible things. But it is the man who rises from the ashes of their devastation that can change the world, Draco.” 

“Draco. I know…” Harry’s voice cracked, and he tried again. “I know fatherhood is a hard thing to face. Probably for you more than any of us. But, I told you, on that day after he was dead, and later on the day that you were married: You are worthy, Draco. We wouldn’t have won without you. It was an incredibly brave thing you did during the war, and it takes a man who is capable of great things to keep up with our Hermione.”

Ron was still on the couch, having been the one who had remained cautious of Draco even after he had spied for them, fought for them. But, when he spoke up, his ears were slightly red, “I know you and I have had… words over the years. And even after you saved us, I struggled to forgive you more than anyone else. I guess, I’m just not,” he paused, struggling, “A forgiving man.”

Draco snorted, and pulled his hands from Luna’s grip. He turned away from them all. 

“Wait! What I’m trying to say is, I’ve seen you with Teddy. I’ve seen you with James and with Lysander and Lorcan and…” Ron swallowed, spreading his hands over his knees. “I think you’ll be a great father. Certainly, much better than your father, anyway. And probably a better father than I will ever be.” 

Draco stopped in his tracks, having stuffed his hands in his pockets as he had started to pace again. His breath was tighter than ever, and his eyes were burning. He looked up, examining the crown molding of the little lounge area. His father, in fact, had taught him to hold back his tears by looking up. 

He guessed his father had not failed him in every way… but just in every way that mattered. 

When he won the battle against the tears behind his eyes, he turned back towards the trio, his hands still shoved in his pockets. He glanced at Harry who was looking at him with concerned eyes; Ron, who was pointedly not looking at him; and then at Luna who had already gotten distracted and was pointedly bent over, looking closely at a few loose threads in the carpet. 

“I-“ He began, and winced when his voice sounded hoarse and raw. “I do not think I will ever feel worthy. But… thank you. For the kind words.” 

Harry shot him a small smile, and Ron finally looked at him and shot him a wink. 

They all jumped as the door to Draco’s bedroom flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. A few house elves scurried out, carrying buckets of warm water and dirty clothes that were being used for gods know what. In the doorway, stood a very pregnant, very flushed Ginny Potter. Her brown eyes were sharp, but her freckles stood out on her flushed face and her red hair was sticking to her face where it had fallen out of her bun. She rubbed a hand over her swollen abdomen and clutched a wand at her side on her other hand. 

“Draco. Get in here. It’s time,” her voice was all business, bossy in a way that only Weasley women could achieve. 

Draco stared, feeling the world slipping out from under his feet.

“Keep it together, Malfoy. She needs you right now,” Ginny snapped, and then he was forcefully being pulled into the room. 

After a few stuttered steps, he entered the room to look at the scene he had been removed from several hours ago. He didn’t even hear the door close behind him. 

His ridiculously large four-poster bed was in shambles, the wood bent in odd ways like someone had been gripping it, but a few pillows were now placed strategically around his wife. Even now, exhausted and flushed, pained, she was beautiful. She was propped up against the pillows, her chest heaving and covered in sweat. Her curly hair was a mane around her, and he had always loved her that way. When she was angry, or laughing, or making love to him, her magic would leak into her brown curls and puff it up into a wild mess that Draco just wanted to bury his hands into. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort of her labor, and she had one hand curled in her hair keeping it away from her face and the other was resting against her swollen abdomen. There was no mistaking the dark circles underneath her eyes, likely twins to Draco’s own, and her eyes were closed. She was partially hidden underneath a set of pale cotton sheets, but he could see her legs were propped up to give her more room. Between her legs stood the Weasley matriarch who was waving her wand over his wife, muttered spells that checked her heart rate, her blood levels, the babies heart rate and spells to cool and to sooth and to ease. 

He took a stumbling step towards Hermione, desperate to get close to her. _He,_ he had been the one to do this to her. When his shoes clicked against the wooden floor, she cracked her eyes open to look at him. She didn’t smile, she looked much too tired for that, but that moment when she looked him, and he looked at her- it soothed the tension on her face. The fear, the pain in her eyes turned to relief the moment that she looked at him. He was drowning in their cinnamon depths as he nearly ran to her. 

“Draco,” she spoke, her voice hoarse.

“Shh-, he soothed, his heart rate slowing. He had thought that watching her labor had been hard, but being away from her had definitely been harder, “Save your strength. It’s almost over, my lionheart.” 

Hermione gripped his hand, pulling him to her. He pulled her hair away from her face, muttering a quick charm to fasten it away from her neck. He brushed a cool hand over her forehead. 

“I think-“, she moaned, tearing her eyes away from him to look at Molly who still muttered above her, “Oh, Molly. I need to push.” She shifted suddenly, sitting up more and bracing herself. Draco took her hand back as soon as she would let him. 

Molly Weasley huffed a breath, and like her daughter, her red hair was sticking to her face. Ginny had grabbed clean blankets and water, and noticeably, Draco realized that she had fetched the bassinet from the adjoining nursery. Draco’s heart squeezed tightly, but he just encouragingly squeezed Hermione’s hand. 

Draco kissed Hermione’s hair, looking at Molly with a look that he was sure revealed his terror. Molly didn’t spare a look at him, but simply looked at where Hermione was covered between them. Ginny approached Hermione’s other side and gripped her other hand. The pregnant woman had crawled up on the bed with her and was obviously struggling to get in a comfortable place where she could help Hermione get into a good position to push. 

“Alright, Hermione. I think you’re ready, and if you feel like you’re ready to push that means it’s almost over,” Molly spoke quickly, instructing Hermione on the best position to keep her legs.

Draco couldn’t help it, maybe the brat would never really be out of his system so-, “You think? Good god, woman I hope you’re sure. You insisted we didn’t need to go St. Mungo’s- “ 

The look Molly Weasley gave him was scathing and she interrupted before he could continue, “Enough. I’ve birthed more babies than half the healers at St. Mungo’s. She’s ready. So be quiet, or I’ll throw you back out of the room, boy.” 

Draco paled at the threat, but she seemed undisturbed and began ordering him to help hold Hermione’s leg up into optimum position. 

Hermione was whimpering and gripping his hand with a grip like a vice. “I need to push, Molly. Oh, Merlin…” she was holding back a wail, and Draco would have cut off his own hand if it would have taken away her pain. 

“Alright, Hermione. Like you mean it, push down with all your might on the count of three. We’re going to hold the push for ten seconds. Deep breath. Good girl. Now… One… Two… Three…” 

And then Hermione was screaming again, the sweat rolling down her face and Draco was kissing it away while she screamed, trying to keep his eyes away from her center, because he was quite certain he wouldn’t recover from that view. Each shriek pierced right through him. 

Molly was encouraging her, counting out loud, and from the other side Ginny was telling her to keep going, keep going, and Draco wondered if he would pass out-

When the ten seconds passed, both he and Hermione took a deep breath and the spots in his vision disappeared. Right, breathing, he needed to breath because gods, she needed him.

“You’re doing so good, my little lion. So strong. You’re almost done. I’m so proud of you, and I’m here…” he whispered to her before he even knew what he was saying, and he brushed some of the hair that crackled around her from her face. It was already escaping from his charm. He barely noticed Ginny and Molly looking at each other, he only saw his wife panting.

“Okay, Hermione. Whenever you get the urge to push again and you have your breath, we’re going to push again.”

Hermione nodded, and much faster than he was ready, managed to gasp, “Okay. Okay. I’m ready. Again.”

“Okay. On the count of three.”

And so, it went on.

Three more times.

And then, six more times.

After the tenth push, Hermione was sobbing. “Please, please tell me he’s almost out.”

Draco didn’t bother to reply with his usual snarky ‘Or she.’

“Almost, sweetie. It’s going to be all at once. You can do this,” Molly’s voice was strained, and she was muttering spells.

Hermione gasped, and the tears mixed with the sweat on her face, and Draco’s whole being was screaming at her pain. 

A few moments passed in which Draco caressed her face and kissed her behind her ear. The only sound was Molly’s muttering, Ginny’s fast breaths and Hermione’s catching breath. 

“Are they okay?” Draco finally asked, the question that he was knew was burning in both his and Hermione’s mind. 

Molly’s answer came a little too slowly for his liking. “Yes. Now they are. I think their little shoulder is getting stuck in the birth canal but, I applied some more lubrication now and a few spells to decrease inflammation… I think the next few pushes and they’ll be out.” 

Draco didn’t bother to answer her, he just turned back to his wife who was trying to catch her breath. 

“Okay. Okay. A few pushes. I can do that,” she muttered, her eyes closed. Strong, god, she was so bloody strong. 

Draco just gripped her hand harder and kissed her knuckles one by one. 

“Okay. I think I’m ready. I need to- “, she moaned again. 

it began again. She pushed, and pushed, and pushed… her wails and screams echoed in his ears and all he could think of was his own self-hatred in his foolish desire to have children. 

Hermione had wanted to wait, but he had been the one to convince her, although she was well on her way to becoming Minister of Magic and obviously didn’t have time for children… he had done this to her. He had done this to his wife. 

After they had started trying, she had miscarried her first two pregnancies, the first very early on and the second far along enough that they had started to buy clothes for the little girl. It was after that that they decided they didn’t want to know the gender anymore, until the little one was in their arms. He had blamed himself then, the Malfoy’s had always had difficult pregnancies, but now… The guilt he had felt back then was nothing compared to the guilt he felt now. 

She was screaming, and he just kissed her face over and over, his own tears falling down his face now. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

He kept whispering to her, even as her moaning stopped, not hearing a word that Molly or Ginny was saying. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Hermione just sobbed, her hand freeing from his grip and brushing the tears away from his face even as he kissed hers away. 

And then he heard it. 

A sound that, he didn’t realize then, would change him forever. 

A cry, weak at first, but then louder. Shrill, and earthshattering. 

When they heard it, Hermione let out a louder sob, relieved. Draco whipped his head to the little flailing pink bundle that Ginny was cleaning vigorous with a towel while Molly whispered incantations to help with breathing and warmth. 

When the bundle was crying loudly, Ginny held it up with two hands, her eyes glistening with emotion. Draco just stared, not breathing, not feeling-

“Congratulations. It’s a boy,” she told them, a wide grin spread across her face and without further ado, lay the new babe across Hermione’s now bare chest, a blanket spread over the little one to keep him warm. 

“A boy,” Draco managed. 

Hermione laughed, gripping the baby close to her. “I told you, Draco. I told you he was a boy…” Her voice was exhausted, but the look in her eyes was nothing short of pure elation. 

She began cooing at the little baby, and Molly began to clean her up while Draco stared at the baby in his wife’s arms. 

“Born on September 7th at 10:24 am,” Ginny said again, and then, kissing both Hermione and Draco on the cheeks, turned to exit the room to spread the news. 

Draco finally took a breath. “Is he healthy? Will he be okay?” He just stared at the babe, unable to move. He was frozen on the bed next to his wife, the hand he had been holding, that had been gluing him to the planet, was now holding the child in his wife’s arms. 

Molly smiled up at him, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, from where she worked between Hermione’s legs, “Healthy as a horse. He will be fine.” 

Draco just turned back to Hermione, and with some courage creeped closer. The baby had started to calm, his eyes now closed against his mother’s chest and cooing contentedly. His hair, still somewhat wet was matted against his head, and was a surprisingly thick smattering of pale-white locks. 

His heart leapt, and the whole world hit him all at once. He could feel the world spinning around him for a moment, but then, when it settled back... everything changed.

His whole world suddenly revolved around this tiny, still red, baby already falling asleep against his wife’s chest. 

He wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist, kissing the side of her head as he stared at his son. 

“I love you, so very much Hermione. This gift… this child. Thank you. For giving me him.” 

He saw his wife give a tiny smile out of the corner of his eye from where he rested his head against her shoulder, “I love you, too.” 

Suddenly, his wife winced again, and tightened her grip around the baby on her chest. 

“Sorry, Hermione. I think it’s time for you to delivery the placenta,” Molly interrupted gently, “Why don’t you take him, Draco? This will be uncomfortable for Hermione for a few minutes.” 

Draco stared at his child for a few seconds before nodding, “Okay. But… how do I…?” 

Molly smiled and grabbed a blanket, lifting his son from Hermione’s chest before gently swaddling him in a bundle of cloth. 

“Wait! I can do it, just show,” Draco protested, unable to take anyone else handling his son before he did.

Molly laughed gently, picking him back up and turning back to Draco with the bundle. “Relax, I’m just swaddling him. I’ll show you how to do that in a little. Now, just gently, a hand under his head-. Good.”

Then, Draco was holding his whole world in his hands. 

“Thank you,” Draco whispered. His voice was soft, and he hoped it displayed the amount of gratitude her felt for the Weasley matriarch at that moment.

“Of course, dear,” Molly said gently, touching his face for a moment. He was shocked by the motherly gesture, but his eyes couldn’t be removed from the child in his arms. 

As she returned to his wife, Draco settled in a chair nearby the bed, and… watched. 

He was beautiful. He was still a little red from squeezing through Hermione, and covered in a few fluids that would normally have bothered Draco but… no. Nothing could bother Draco right now. He could feel Hermione’s brown eyes watching him from the bed, a wistful expression on her face, but he didn’t tear his eyes away. 

His nose was definitely Hermione’s, less pointy than Draco’s own, but Draco saw himself in his chin. The baby cooed, and Draco brushed his hand over the baby’s tiny hands that were clutched just outside of the swaddle. His heart squeezed as his son gripped his pinky finger in his own tiny hand. And then, his son opened his eyes. 

Gray. His eyes were gray, almost silver. Like Draco’s own. He gasped. 

“Hermione,” Draco started.

“I know. I see,” and he could hear the smile on her voice, “I do not think anyone will ever mistake him for being anyone’s but yours.” 

He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. Being a Malfoy… well. His families name was not what it once was. This boy would have a hard-enough road without looking like the spinning image of a Death Eater. 

“It’s a shame he doesn’t look more like you,” he muttered, frowning. He didn’t move his finger from the baby’s grip.

“Hmm,” she answered. “I’m quite happy with how he looks.” 

The baby closed his eyes again and let out a contented sigh. Draco gripped him more closely to his chest. 

A few minutes passed. Draco tried to find his footing in this new world. 

“So, Michael, then?” Draco asked finally.

“I thought we had agreed on Scorpius. Following Malfoy traditions, and all,” he looked up at her and saw the playful look in her eye. She winced slightly. Molly was still cleaning her up. 

“Scorpius… Are you sure? I know you wanted to involve your father’s name. We could name him Michael Scorpius Malfoy.” 

Hermione looked at the bundle in his arms, he could tell that she was aching to hold him again. 

“No… he looks so much like a Malfoy already. I think we should stick with tradition. Scorpius Draco Malfoy. It’s traditional for Malfoy’s to keep their father’s names as a middle name.” 

Draco snorted, although quietly as to not startle the little one in his arms, “It’s traditional for Malfoy’s to marry up-tight pureblood witches but here we are.” 

Hermione just gave him a tired, crooked smile, “I’m glad you didn’t marry an up-tight, pureblood witch.” 

He smiled, “Me too.” 

A few moments passed, and Molly was pointedly doing her best to give them their privacy as she continued cleaning and healing Hermione. 

“What about Scorpius Michael Malfoy, then? If you’re so inclined to be traditional. It keeps your father’s name as his middle name and still is a constellation.”

Hermione just smiled at him again, her eyes drooping as she fought her exhaustion. 

“Hmm. Cruel, beautiful witch. That was your plan this whole time. Why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted?” he teased, still unable to find the will to move his pinky finger being gripped by the babe but his arm was starting to burn. 

“I didn’t get so far in my work by convincing others to do what I wanted because it was _my_ idea. It’s much better if it’s _their_ idea.” 

“I wonder who taught you to think that way.” 

“Husband, I do not think I know what you mean,” she teased. 

He just chuckled. He stared at the little, blonde-haired, silver eyed child in his arm. Half-blood, and beautiful, and _his._

“Scorpius. My son,” his voice was a whisper. The baby didn’t stir. 

A few more moments passed in which Hermione took a few slow breaths and Draco stared at Scorpius in wonder. 

“You should go show them. I’m sure they’re dying to meet him,” her voice nearly made him jump as he thought she had fallen asleep. 

Draco, finally freed his finger from his son’s surprisingly strong grip, stood then, “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

He approached her, sitting next to her in bed and holding Scorpius out so she could kiss his forehead and breath him in. She kissed his little forehead three times and brushed a gentle hand past his cheek before answering, “I’ll be okay. Just don’t be too long.” 

He looked to Molly for confirmation, and she nodded at him encouragingly from a basin where she was washing her hands, “She’ll be okay. I’ll take care of her.” 

He nodded, taking a deep breath. He knew she would take care of Hermione, she loved her dearly.

He sighed then, holding up the little baby in his arm to look at him properly. He couldn’t find the want to leave the room just yet, so he just stood there, next to his wife. Holding his son. He looked down at the little one, and he knew then. 

He knew he would be better. He may have been a Death Eater, he may have been a little pale-faced brat, but he had fought. He had fought for what was right, and he had loved and conquered and lived. 

He had hated himself, all those years, but he knew now that he could no longer hate himself and love this child. He knew he had to change, had to be better than what was expected of him. Scorpius would grow up in a household full of love, and kindness and acceptance. He would grow up with a father who would teach him strength and compassion and discipline. He would teach him what it really meant to be a man. 

He looked at his son’s face, and he knew then that not only had the Gods forgiven him, but… they had saved him as well. 

They had saved Draco Malfoy by giving him the beautiful baby in his arms. 

“Welcome to the world, Scorpius Michael Malfoy,” he whispered, kissing his son gently on the forehead. The baby cooed again, stirring slightly. 

“Now, let’s go meet your Godparents,” he smiled proudly, gripping him close to him, and then headed towards the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know in the comments!


End file.
